


Hero and Menace (Thin Lines)

by navaan



Category: DC Extended Universe, Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Dominance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Held Down, Light Dom/sub, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 04:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16967385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: Diana learns about the testosterone fueled stories told in pulps. She's ready to fulfill  the fantasy by subverting it.





	Hero and Menace (Thin Lines)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Spicy Advent Calendar. The random assignment generator gave me the prompt _menace_.

Diana stares at the "Spicy Detectives" cover that has a strapping hero with a ripped shirt carry a scantily clad woman from a burning building, but there are a few others in the pile. Another has the hero held back by enemy soldiers while a terrified beauty is dragged away towards what any reader can imagine is a dire fate. The thrill is in the violence that's hinted at off-page and that in the story will be averted by the shining hero. That's how it works, after all. 

"These are your stories of heroes?" she asks and wrinkles her nose a bit. Steve's not surprised by her disapproval. The world she comes from is very different. 

Chief laughs. "Not mine." He nods over at Steve. "His."

Steve shrugs, too. With the life, he leads he doesn't exactly have time to read fantastic stories. He's a spy. Most outrageous adventures he talks about are his own - and some of them are more outrageous than anything in these pages. " _My people_ ," he says bemusedly and grins at Chief, "are looking for some distraction from hard times, alright? They like silly stories. Takes off the edge."

"Silly?" Diana asks and cocks her head to the side as if she’s thinking it over. 

He smiles at her and she smiles back, the magazine not entirely forgotten, but no longer foremost on his mind. "Silly, yeah. It's overblown and exciting, but not… _real_ , Diana."

"I see," she replies and he has a feeling she's still thinking about this carefully. "So these are the silly stories of men's world?" She chuckles. There's a pinch of pity thrown in there with the hinted edge of derision.

"You say that as if you've just learned something significantly surprising, princess," Sameer observes. 

"Stories are never _just_ silly," she answers and throws a significant look towards Steve. He's told her more than once now how she's the legend stepped from off the page. “Stories define who we are. They reveal much about the storytellers.” She holds up the cover for all of them to see. "What does this tell about storytellers? And the people entranced by them?"

Steve smiled weakly. He tries not to dwell at the meaning. 

Later she asks with an impish smile, before sweeping him off his feet into her arms like he's a damsel in need of saving: "What would your storytellers think of me? Am I the hero or the menace? Are you the beautiful defenseless thing that cries for help? Do I need to save you? Carry you out of danger? Or am I the scary thing that stepped out of myth that wants to whisk you away? The thing that can't be? Threatening you with my power? My impossible prowess? Which is it, Steve Trevor?" 

His arms settle around her neck and, despite the muscle, it's so slender and beautiful and her skin is so deceptively soft. She is a stunningly beautiful woman and he has never known one like her, whose beauty doesn’t hide the strength so much as emphasizes it. 

“Not crying for help now, am I?” he asks her instead of giving an answer. He's aware it sounds like an invitation or a challenge. He's not sure which it is either. But instead of running from this, he kisses her and she kisses back but doesn't stop her walk towards the bed, carrying him like a bride on the wedding night. He's hard long before she throws him down on the mattress like he's a helpless plaything and can't hide how much he wants this - the beauty, the power, _everything_ she's willing to give or _take_. It's Diana and he wants all she is willing to give him, is going to give her everything she asks for. 

“What is it then, Steve Trevor, hero or menace? What do you want me to be?”

He licks his lips. "Tonight?" he asks breathless, ready as always to be carried into danger instead of out of it. "How about menace?" 

She blinks then her eyes start twinkling like the stars in the night sky and she laughs, clear as a bell and so full of life it's infectious -- a free laugh that comes from her heart and is never condescending, just joyful and all-encompassing. The joy of it makes him smile too, despite the challenge he has just uttered. He realizes she's just enjoying the moment, and easily crawls onto the bed after him - menacing only in her self-assured movements, in the way she holds and controls herself, in the way she keeps her strength bottled up, for now, intent written all over her face. Then she kisses him hard enough to take his breath away. "I can be menacing," she whispers against his throat in her perfect dark voice, with the slight accent, while she presses his hands down over his head and holds him in place. “Like this.”

Nothing ever made him feel so weak and so alive at the same time. He gasps.

The sound makes her smile, a light shining in her eyes that has nothing of darkness.

And yet he’s here, helpless before her.

He wants it. Wants to be hers. But his upbringing, his experiences with women and love have not prepared him for this need, have not given him the words for it.

Possibly, she senses this, as he leans down to kiss him, hard and yet gently coaxing. Perhaps she senses his fear and yet his sudden spike of lust.

“In the old days,” she whispers, and he has to wonder again how old she is really, how many stories she knows from experience or books and how many she makes up to tease him, “long before the goddess gave us Themyscira, Amazons chose the men to give them children. Most often they fought and carried away the best warrior to spend nights of passion with. We didn’t fight them, but bedding a strong woman was an honor for many of them in the old days at least. I didn't carry you away from the battlefield, Steve Trevor, but I can make you submit to me.”

There isn’t even the hint of a threat in her voice. Wonder, maybe. Interest. Patience. Love.

He moans because her leg has slipped between his and presses against his quickly growing erection - and it’s no accident. Diana is a warrior, no less of a strategist here than on the battlefield. 

He doesn’t say: “Make me.” Not just yet.

But he looks at her with her angelic face, the dark curls framing it, and her dark eyes that are shining with more soul than most people he knows possess. She's like the goddess that has stepped from a fairytale to bless the world with life and miracles of her making, and he still can’t believe they're here, in the mess that's the real world, finding perfection together like this.

“Oh,” -- she leans down, effectively trapping him with all of her body – “I intent to Captain Trevor, I intend to. You will beg for it.”

He's ready to beg for something right now and she hasn't done anything yet, but then she grabs his wrists with a sudden motion and yet such a self-assured ease and traps them above his head that his cock simply springs to attention. Her fingers are the same slender fingers he likes lacing his with and he knows the sword callouses on them, knows what these fingers can do, and now she's doing it – _to him_. His clothes rip and he makes a – _very dignified sound_ , thank you very much.

She's no longer chuckling, but she's _grinning_. “You are mine now,” she says forcefully enough to make him shiver with anticipation. 

With her inhumanly strong hands, she rips his pants clean off him. A spike of fear mixes into the excitement and spurs the lust. “I've never been so...”

Diana's hand clamps over his mouth. “Mine,” she says. “You talk when I allow it.”

She stares at him until he nods. It's embarrassing, but his cock leaks pre-come just from the little show of strength and ownership.

Her strong thighs settle around him, imprison him, chain him to the bed with her body's weight. And, god, her legs under that thing she's always wearing that isn't dress, not skirt, not armor, is soft and naked against his heated flesh. She moves her hands to touch herself – reach between them, stroking both of them until he groans. 

“Patience,” she orders and does something to the fabric still separating them. Her hot flesh is pressed against him. The wetness he feels is testament to her own desire. He's not the only one in need of this. She lifts herself only far enough to grasp his cock and position it. Then she slides down the length, sits on him. Nothing more than a perfect little sigh escapes her.

Steve has to bite his lip to keep from moaning as her muscles grip at him.

“It's alright to beg,” she says. “After all, I have you at my mercy now.”

It's like she's talking right to his loins. His erection twitches happily and she laughs, heady and deep. Then she starts moving, grinding herself against him, concerned with her own pleasure. 

This is new. 

She's using him to quench her own thirst. His hands settle at her hips to hold her, control the angle, seek better friction as he pushes up into her, hopes to make her moan, hopes to turn her delighted sighs into groans. But her hands grab his wrists and push them back into the pillow to the left and right of his face.

His eyes – when did he close them? – fly open, meet hers, surprised and hot and ready to just let her take what she needs.

“You'll please me,” she says, every bit the menacing mistress. “Please me greatly.”

She grabs his wrists harder and he groans. She'll leave marks and he wants her to. “Menace.”

“Beg for mercy only if you want it.” Her voice has become a hoarse whisper. She's in control and yet he can hear the pleasure and excitement, as she sets a punishing rhythm.

God, why is he this close to climax? How is he this close already?

“Diana.”

“Yes.”

“Princess.”

“Yes,” she whispers as he moans and pleads and begs her prettyly.

“Don't worry, Steve Trevor. I will only hurt you if you ask me to.”

That's all it takes -- because he thinks of it and _wants_ it. He bucks up, lost in pleasure; all control has gone because it's hers now. The bed groans louder than the both of them as she rides him towards the high point, whispering praises and encouragements.

He's never been owned before.

He doesn't mind at all now that he is – coming apart at the seams under her strong, gentle hands and the force of her sensual power.

After the waves of it crash over him, leave him boneless and spent – more satisfied than he might have been in his life, he nearly drifts off, while she snuggles next to him, kissing his shoulder. 

“You are perfect,” he whispers, the rags that were his clothes framing his mostly naked body. “Menace me any time.”

“You're an unusual man, Steve,” she whispers back and kisses him. “I might just keep you.”

He wasn't going to contest her claim.

If he was lucky, she would never let him go.


End file.
